Letters For You

Dealing With Crap

Posted on July 17, 2012 Written by Tonya

Letters For Lucas and tomorrow’s Letters For You will be on hiatus for a while. SIDE NOTE: Thank you, Momma Kiss for your understanding and my frantic phone call.

I am heading to Arizona at this very moment to deal with God knows what.

My sister and I still own our parents house in Tucson and pay monthly minimal utilities bills. The water bill is usually under $20/month. Yesterday’s bill was over $5000! Turns out a main water line (we think) burst on or around July 6 and we are going to assess the damage(s).

Great.

Just where I want to be in the dead of summer.

Dealing with this crap.

Lucas will be accompanying me, (missing a trip to visit his grandparents and at least two days of preschool) as will my sister.

Now accepting barrels of wine.

Wish us luck.

A Letter To The Dearly Departed

Posted on July 10, 2012 Written by Tonya

Greta writes Gfunkified and today is sharing a touching letter to her first husband, who was tragically killed by a drunk driver while she was seven weeks pregnant. Her post, Ivy describes that dark period of her life with nothing but heart and strengthen.

Greta is truly a remarkable and courageous woman, wife, and mother and I am pleased to have her here today.

Dear J,

Ivy will be five in a couple of short weeks, so that means it’s been six and a half years now. I wish you could have met her, seen her precious little face and how much she resembles your mom and sister.

She’s a little firecracker. She’s got my personality and our blue eyes. She tries to hide a sneaky smile when she knows she’s been caught. This girl will be the source of many a sleepless night, I’m sure of it.

Henry is, well… your little clone. The older he gets, the more he looks and acts like you. I wish you could have seen his school programs, or his endless supply of ever-more-intricate drawings (another trait straight from your genes). He has your enthusiasm and lack of rhythm.

We talk about you, a lot. They know who you are, who you were, and where they came from. As they get older, I know they’ll ask more and more questions. As hard as it is to answer them sometimes, you know I’ll always do my best.

I hope you can witness all of this from where you are. I hope, so much, that you haven’t been completely robbed of that.

I don’t hate the woman who killed you. I don’t have anger for her anymore. I don’t have energy to spend on that, and I know that’s not how you’d want me to spend my life with your children.

I will never, EVER forget her name, though. I’ll never be able to drive over that spot and not think about what happened.

I hope you know that I’m happy, and that we’re well taken care of. I hope you can see that your kids will never feel that they aren’t loved every single day of their lives, and that I’m loved. Because I know in my heart that you want that for me, and I will always have the inkling that you had something to do with how my life has played out since you left it.

Love,
G

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Be Here

Posted on June 27, 2012 Written by Tonya

I usually leave the letter writing to you around here, but from time to time, I just have to address someone. This is one of those times.

Dear Mom at the park,

We’ve never met.

I don’t know you.

I don’t pretend to have any idea what kind of life or even day you have had or what may be running through your head at this very moment, but I know that we all have stuff, heavy stuff and life is full of distractions.

I’ll be the first to admit that being a mom is really tough sometimes.

I know I’m out of place and you can tell me to go straight to hell, but I couldn’t help noticing your complete disinterest in your child as he desperately tried to get your attention today at the park.

Do you hear him?

Mom, watch this.

Mom, push me.

Mom, let’s build something.

Mom, help me.

Mom, will you chase me?

Mom?

Mom?!

MOM!

Everyone else at the park does.

Please get off your phone and pay attention to your boy.

Incidentally, that scream came from your son who just face planted into the hot rough sand. He needs you.

That incessant plea to be pushed on the swing is coming from your son.

Put your coffee aside and help your little boy get down from the monkey bars. He wants you.

He wants to spend time with you!

It’s not my job to tell your kid that throwing sand is not okay, not to mention barging in front of children half his age. Coming to the park is suppose to be fun for all of us. Sure it’s a drag when there are dozens of places we would rather be, but we are here so let’s make the best of it.

Be here.

Besides, would it kill you to engage with your child? Couldn’t you block the world out and chase him around in the grass for a few minutes? Why not take a load off and lay on your backs and count the clouds in sky? Build a magnificent sand castle? Slide down the slide together?

Do something.

Anything.

Laugh. Smile. Love.

It’s one afternoon, one hour, if that and I’m sure there will be no lasting effects, but childhood goes by way too fast and before you know it, an afternoon turns into a week and weeks become months and so on. I don’t want you to miss it.

Sincerely,

Someone who has been there.

Choose Kindness

Posted on June 19, 2012 Written by Tonya

I love Stasha. I love the fact that we are both mothers of boys (just one year apart) I enjoy her blog, The Good Life, her Monday Listicles (and try to participate as often as I can) and especially her gorgeous photography. I am so happy to have her here today with a message to her neighbor and in a way all of us: choose kindness.

Dear Man in Black,

I have never been afraid of anyone in my life. I know there are many different people roaming this Earth and not all are destined to be my friends. Some I might even dislike. But you MIB, downright frighten me.

You pass by our house every day. You walk with your steady, fast pace, glancing over our yard, shooting a disapproving look. You mutter something to yourself and every single time I feel like you hate us just a little bit more. You stand there and taunt my dog until he stands up and barks at you.

You never greet us back when I or my son say good morning. You pick on the neighborhood kids and you fight with their mothers. About children riding their bikes too fast or too slow, sledging on the road or on the sidewalk, smiling or laughing, being little and having fun.

You offend us with your words, your gestures, your outbursts. You report us to the town officials for our grass being too short, too long or possibly just right. You report our dogs for barking even if they don’t. You are walking around looking for a fight, for a reason to make someone else’s day as bad as yours.

I want to understand. Is there something that is hurting your heart so bad that you became bitter? Was there a moment in your life when you turned so mean, so scary? Does my smile and my warm hello upset you? Can a four year old boy waving at you really make you mad? Is your heart made of steel?

I would like to help you. This neighborhood of ours is a wonderful place. Men in our street are good men, veterans of wars. They love and provide for their families. They take pride in their homes. Us wives, we are friends. We support each other when our husbands are gone.

Our children are friends. They play and laugh outside because this is a safe place.

Our pets are well behaved. We love living here. This is our home. We are good neighbors.

You are a blessed man. Living in this wonderful place, surrounded by breathtaking nature and kind people. Why is that not enough? Why do you pick on the smallest detail? Why do you choose to see all the negative. And why are you poisoning us with your swear words? Why is life so bad for you?

I refuse to believe that a man is born like that. I choose to think there is a reason for you to act the way you do. Something that is out of your control, prompting you to scare us so much.

If you ever reply to my hello, smile of even look our way with kindness we will open our doors. There is a warm cup of tea and a pair of ears waiting to hear your story. Please choose kindness. We are so tired of being afraid of you.

Your neighbor up the road,

Stasha

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The Face In The Mirror

Posted on June 12, 2012 Written by Tonya

I had the pleasure of meeting Nicole of By Word of Mouth Musings at BlogHer last year. I first fell in love with her South African accent and then her heart.

This woman does it all and then some; she is a mother, wife, blogger, home schooler and is one of the kindest, most thoughtful people in the blogosphere. If you haven’t read any of her posts yet, please start with this one: The Green-Eyed Monster, it will tell everything you need to know about this amazing woman.

I am proud to have Nichole here today.

Dear Face in the Mirror,

We should talk about this life we share.

I have looked at you more than a million times, or yes, I will admit, even harshly examined. Sometimes you smile back at me, sometimes you look as though I caught you unawares. Some days you look like you could do with a nap – or a facelift. There are days I try to ignore you and then there are days that I scrutinize each and every part of you. Those are also the days I tend to be thankful for my failing eyesight, the image is not as brutal. Sadly, I have been unkind to you over the years and the damage cannot be undone. I realise its way too late for apologies.

Some days you surprise me when I catch you looking back at me. I see you, and without fail I seek out the lines that crease around your eyes. Eyes sparkling, but some days – a hint of sadness. It is said that your eyes are the window to your soul. As I look into them, what do I see? What stories do they tell?

The face I see, a mouth that smiles, a smile that travels to those eyes. My Mother once told me that I should be proud of the little crinkles earned… they tell of laughter and joy. A life lived with happiness. Not wrinkles to be lamented, but to rejoice in for they show the delight and sheer elation of a life lived. Blessed with a family, gorgeous children who fulfill life’s promise, and friends near and dear.

Some days I see a furrowed brow when times gets hard. Sometimes offering a facade of an immaculate life to the world. And yes, dear reflection, there are days when those eyes well up with ugly tears of frustration, of sadness or reflective of memories of old. When I hold you in my hands and weep silent tears for paths chosen, for days lost, for babies that were not to be. Memories never made and looking into your eyes I know so well, I see pain and sadness and loss. Those days, there is no light to be had when I glance at you in that dark and empty place. A pretense, a masquerade of all being perfect in the world – when really, is there really such perfection to be had?

I trust that as years go by I will see wisdom and kindness, that there will always be a hint of a smile and a glint of whimsy. We will deliberate our passage and we will continue this road together, doing our utmost to approach the inevitable changes with grace. Rather like a star of time immemorial, elegant brow raised, contemplating the future – maybe we will even wear purple.

All good things indeed, but first, I must learn to love you. Flaws and all. And decide which one of us will be the reflection of the other.

With hope (and love) – Nicole xxx

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You Are Enough

Posted on June 5, 2012 Written by Tonya

I am thrilled to have Courtney Kirkland here today with a message so simple and pure about something we should all realize about ourselves sooner rather than later.

Please welcome Courtney, a mother like you and me with insecurities, heartaches and joys in equal measures giving herself (and all of us) a little pep talk.

Really soak in her words.

When Tonya invited to me to be part of her weekly Letters for You, I admit that I hadn’t the slightest clue as to who I wanted to write to. I could write to my son, but I already do that pretty frequently on my own site. I could write to my rather annoying next door neighbors (who are finally moving next week!) or I could write to the United States Coast Guard for plenty of reasons.

But since the Coast Guard looks down upon online letters of complaint and my neighbors are leaving, I figure what’s the point?

So instead, I’ve opted to write to myself. In the last eight or nine years I’ve learned that while we can be our own worst critics, we can also be our own biggest support system.

Dear Me (from six years ago),

It’s taken you years to realize this but now that you have, I think you’ve noticed a change in your perspective on life…

Contrary to whatever you might have believed growing up…

Despite what other mights have told you during those awful years in High School…

Whether you’ve believed before now or not…

You are enough.

Even though you can’t be everything for everyone and you can’t do everything on your own, you are still enough. You are a mother. You’re a wife. You’re a business owner. You’re a writer. You’ve chased down everything you’ve dreamed of so far and you do your best at every task you’re given.

Believe in yourself. Believe in your abilities. Believe that you really are here for a reason. You’ve got dreams and goals and a family who cares for you.

Stop doubting it. And just live it.

Be who you are and enjoy the moments that you’ve been given. Everything else will fall into place as it should.

Sincerely,

Me (six years from now)

Never Gonna Give You Up

Posted on May 22, 2012 Written by Tonya

Elena of Mommy is in Timeout is my guest today. I had the pleasure of meeting Elena, her husband and two adorable sons last July when they rolled through Southern Cal. Our boys were busy going in three completely different directions, so it was challenging to have a complete conversation, but I liked her instantly and have always appreciated her humor, love of all things Detroit and endless support. Here she is with a letter moms everywhere can identify with. Sigh…

When Tonya asked me to participate in her Letters for You series, I wasn’t really sure who, or what, I would write to.

I could write the wounded neighborhood duck, who keeps trying to seek refuge in our front lawn, not knowing that she’s turning to a woman who is scared of every animal on the planet, including ducks.

I could write my boys and tell them all the simple things they do each day to tug on my heart strings.

I could write Moroccan Oil for being my hairs only savior on a steamy, frizzy-inducing summer day.

Then it dawned on me, as I sat on the floor outside Cooper’s room last night, watching him on the video monitor, yelling in to him every single time he scaled the walls of his crib and tried to flee the bedtime scene. I would write a love letter to the one thing I’m just not willing to let go of yet.

Dear Mr. Crib,

You entered my life back in 2007 and I had no idea the love affair we would have. Your 4-walled cell kept my kids safe, while they slept away on their (probably unnecessary) organic mattresses. You allowed me take showers in peace when I couldn’t trust two toddlers roaming the house. You kept them in a timeout when one was necessary for them (or me).

Last year, Lanagan decided to move on.

I begged and pleaded with him, sleeping in a big boy bed is so overrated. Mommy would sleep in a crib if she could; it’s like your own personal bat cave. I told him a story of how I even once googled “adult sized cribs”, but the search results yielded rather embarrassing bondage suggestions and it’s actually something I’m kind of ashamed to having on my permanent search history.

After a long discussion, my son convincing me he could move to a bed, while I warned him to be careful of what he googles in the future, we decided it was best that he moved to a mattress on the floor, and that I never go on the Internet again.

I rationalized this move from you with the fact that at least 50% of my kids were still enjoying all the benefits you offered.

Until this past weekend.

In a completely irrational move, I fear as though everyone in the house may be giving you up.

My just-over-2-year-old-but-still-a-baby-in-my-eyes is all but refusing you and crawling out on his own SEVERAL times a night. I’m beside myself.

After work today, I snuck in my Cooper’s room, and you and I had a heart to heart. I stroked your wood (there I go ruining my search history again) and told you to just work your magic. Do something tonight that would seal the deal and give me just one more year. Even six months.

Mr. Crib, no need to respond to this letter, as actions speak louder than words. I hope to see results soon.

Love Your #1 Fan –
Elena

Dead Dads Club

Posted on May 15, 2012 Written by Tonya

I first met Mary in March, 2011 at Bloggy Boot Camp in San Diego and was instantly smitten.

Mary is lively and vibrant and gave a wonderful talk on vlogging. And then I started following her awesome vlogs on The Mama Mary Show because after all, she’s the pro and oh so funny!

If you haven’t seen her Why I Love Kristen Wigg and Should Star in Bridesmaid 2 vlog, go now. I’ll wait. But please come back, because Mary is here today sharing a bittersweet letter to her father, who has been gone for 11 years. I, like some of you can identify with this loss all too well and that’s why Mary and I will always be kindred spirits and members of the Dead Dads Club. That and the fact that I can’t listen to Lady Gaga’s Edge of Glory without thinking of her.

Dear Dad,

A lot has happened in the past eleven years since you’ve been gone. In one breath it feels like just yesterday that we were sitting in your den, watching TV and discussing plans for my wedding, but yet, it also feels like an eternity since you were a living, breathing part of my daily life.

I’ve been a lot of places and experienced some pretty remarkable things over the years, that I wish I could have shared with you, but by far my biggest accomplishment has been having my two daughters, Lily and Lexi. I see you in them, which is really comforting, yet it also breaks my heart to think you will never get to know them or they you. I talk to them about you often because I want them to know what a great man their grandfather was.

My other major accomplishment has been publishing my book, Dead Dads Club; Stories of Love, Loss, and Healing By Daughters Who Have Lost Their Dads, and launching the DeadDadsClub Web site in your honor. Part of me thinks you would be pissed as hell that I am making such a big deal out of you, but I really had to find a way to turn my grief into something positive. For that I think, I hope, you would be proud.

The one thing I know you’d be disappointed with is that I’ve only been in one play since you died, Dad. I did my last show the year after you died and it felt hopelessly empty and uncomfortable being on stage without you in the audience. Of course Mom and Steve were there and have remained incredibly supportive of me, but for some reason, I haven’t been able to bring myself to go back to performing since you’ve been gone. I know how much that would pain you to know because you would never have wanted me to give up on my dreams.

The good news is that I’m starting to get the itch to perform again. I’ve been on some auditions recently and I’m even going to be performing in a dance recital this next weekend with the girls. Part of me wonders/worries that it is silly of me to perform in a recital made up predominantly of kids and teens, but I’m looking at it as a challenge and also a baby step to getting back into the swing of things. Again, I think, hope, you would be proud.

And in other news, I just turned 40 years old. How the heck did that happen? I am now the age that you and mom were when you had me, which seemed ancient when I was a kid. Recently I found a photo of you, taken when you were around 40, and it really made me wish that my 40-year-old-self could hang out with your 40-year-old self. We would get along famously, I just know it. We would drink wine, argue about politics, and discuss books, though we couldn’t quite talk about the book I’m currently reading.

As I’ve gotten older and become a parent I have begun to appreciate you in an entirely new light. There was a time when I was growing up that I resented you for drinking so much and for working such long hours. For yelling at Mom and for treating your daughters like we were clients. But now that I am a parent, I see that you were doing the best you could do. You were doing what you knew and what you thought was right.

One of the most poignant memories I think of frequently took place one afternoon, just a week or so before you died, almost exactly eleven years ago. We were in your den and I was administering your saline IV drip. We were facing each other, practically face-to-face. I didn’t know how much more time I had with you so I decided to take that intimate moment to tell you everything I wanted to say. I told you that I loved you. I thanked you for being such a great dad.

“You’ve supported me in everything I’ve wanted to do, allowed me to travel and to find out who I am.”

You replied with, “Well it seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”

“I am going to miss you, Dad.”

“I’m going to miss you too, babe.”

I fought back my tears because you always hated to see me cry, but as soon as your IV drip was in place, I excused myself from the room and wept like a baby. I knew that was going to be one of the last moments I would have with you, and it was.

I think back to that time and wonder if I said enough. Was I fervent enough in my love or grateful enough in my thanks? Did you truly know how much I loved you?

I guess that’s why I’m writing this now. I want to make sure, all of these years later, that you know how much I love and miss you.

I’m going to assume that yes, you know. I’m also assuming that you’re having a helluva good time, wherever you are, with your old buddies like Newman, Jack and Harry. I hope you’re hanging out with your daughter/my sister, Marci, who left us to join you way too soon. And I hope you’re looking down with the same pride you used to beam with from the theater seats.

I’m smiling back, blowing kisses and missing you to pieces.

Love, as always,

Mary

Dear John

Posted on May 8, 2012 Written by Tonya

Kirsten of The Kir Corner and I have a lot on common. Not only do we both adore cupcakes, shoes and our sons, we are soul sisters in our struggle with infertility. She has provided me with so much love and encouragement through this crazy journey, I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank her.

Kristen is a wonderful writer, mother and friend. We connected through our writing initially (she blows me away in that arena by the way), but within two minutes of talking to her on the phone for the first time over six months ago, I knew I’d have a friend for life.

It is my honor to welcome Kristen here today sharing the sweetest letter to her husband. Let it serve as a tiny glimpse into her gigantic heart.

I love Tonya. She is a girl who makes my heart happy because she is such a wonderful human being. I was so happy when she told me that I could write for the Letters for You series and for months I thought about who I would choose to write to.

In the end it came down to LOVE.

Thank you, Tonya for sharing your space today. Getting to know you the past year has been such a sweet surprise and I feel so lucky to call you a friend. xo

Dear John,

It seems like such a cliché to pick you to write to, when I could be cute, creative or cunning with that choice. Yet, it only seems right that I write to you since you are really the one person I write to the least when in reality I should be scrawling words to you on your bathroom mirror, tracing your name in the sand and shouting to the world about how much you mean to me.

So a letter, here at Tonya’s place, it is.

I am a true believer in the magic of the words “I love you” and it makes me so happy that you and I say them often, to each other, to the boys and we mean them. Even when we fight, we come back to “I love you” and that is something I know we are lucky to have in one another.

But there are two other words that I have learned are just as important and somehow just as magical,

“Thank you.”

These two words can heal an ache, they can build a bridge, they can allow a light to shine into the darkness and they convey gratefulness for things, big and small, common and extraordinary.

So…

John, sweet, gentle, funny and patient man of mine, THANK YOU…

…for loving me in spite of myself.

…for believing in me even when I can’t find that acceptance in myself.

…for letting me sleep on Saturdays when a migraine or a flare presents itself, without anything but concern at the heart of it.

…for making eggs on Saturday mornings and feeding the boys, for taking the garbage and the dog out, for carrying the heavy bags and for staying at the mall far too long without complaint.

…for calling me on my bullshit and encouraging me to be a better person.

…for knowing my favorite color, my favorite TV shows and movies and that cupcakes and high heels make me happy…all these things as silly as they look on the outside are the heart of you and me, I know, deep down, you know me and you love me anyway. (Wink)

…for shielding me from the bad stuff, the bad news, and for taking it all in your heart so I don’t need to, for being stronger than I am in so many ways. Our life is far from perfect but when we catch each other’s eyes and share a moment, a private joke, a laugh that doubles us over, I know we’ll be okay as long as we’re together.

…for being the kind of father to Giovanni & Jacob you read about in fairytales. You amaze and amuse me every day with the way you show our sons how to be a man in this world. I could not have asked for a better role model for them.

…for going beyond yourself to give me things. Last week when you told me you had booked the hotel for our Listen to Your Mother weekend and I said “thank you” you responded with “a star needs to be treated like one.” My heart exploded with the kind of love you have for me.

…for surprising me, in every day, with the way love works and for reminding me that even when I am sure you don’t “See me” anymore, you do and you acknowledge that in so many ways from letting me write a November away for NaNoWriMo, or leaving you with the boys so I can go to lunch with my girlfriends, from encouraging me to do the IVF because, “you’ll be right beside me”, to “finish the book” to “honey, this audition is ‘all you’” .

…for being the CHEERLEADER in my life, the one who stands on the sidelines and takes no credit but deserves it more than anyone for all you do. For telling me I’m beautiful & smart and making me feel that way when I stand next to you.

…for all the FAITH you have. Belief in us, trust in the modern medicine that brought us Gio and Jacob, Conviction in the way we live our lives.

…and finally, thank you, in every moment of every day, for Choosing Me to spend your life with.

Sometimes I am sure I do not deserve the blessed, lucky life we lead, but THANK YOU for asking me to be your wife.

It’s been the greatest adventure of my life.

I love you honey,

xoxo

Looking Back & Forward

Posted on May 1, 2012 Written by Tonya

My guest today is Sue of Cookie’s Chronicles with a letter that is both moving and heart wrenching.

Sue is a lot like you and me, a mother with some regrets and battle scars, vivid memories and many amazing dreams for her son’s and her own future.

Is it silly to write you a letter when you’ve been gone so long? Perhaps, though I can’t hand it to you, you’ll hear my words. Hopefully, the act of writing them down will bring some peace, if not to you then perhaps I will feel some sense of closure.

I wish I could go back as I am today. I was ill-equipped to be your primary caregiver – or anyone’s for that matter – but it was left to me to fill the role. The truth is, I would have fought for the right had anyone challenged it.

I looked after you. Not well, perhaps – I was barely old enough to look after myself – but I did all I knew how to do. I used the tools I had – the ones you gave to me.

I drove you to doctor’s offices and your dialysis appointments. When you tired of me, I moved you into your brother’s house and drove four hours each way every weekend to visit you. When you felt neglected there, I moved you into a home nearby and continued the long commute.

I did what needed doing, but nothing more. I had nothing more to give.

Today, I would sympathize with your struggle. Back then there was too much resentment, too much anger. You had already left me. I needed you, but you needed me more.

Today, I would allow myself to feel the weight of it all. Back then, I kept a wall between us – or we held it up against each other.

I wanted so much to take your pain away, but I had nowhere to put it. Today, I might carry it for you, but what purpose would that serve? The pain of a generation passed on to the next to be a burden through another life – through eternity.

I am sorry that I could not help you – sorry you were so alone in your struggle. I wish someone had reached out to you – to us – or that you had been able to open your heart to others.

I kept expecting you to fight back, not with anger, bitterness and blame, but with hope, with promise, with a will to live. Instead, you descended further into the abyss until one day it claimed you.

Dark visions of the end of time haunt me, yet as the years pass a light grows stronger. I have seen what fear can do to a person – how it can literally pull a soul down into the depths of the darkness. I have also seen what love, hope, and forgiveness can do.

I could not help you then, but I can change the course of our family’s history. I can ensure that your life was not lived in vain.

I will cast off the shadows of our ancestors, and turn away from fear and anger and toward love, hope, faith and tolerance. When death comes, I will have left behind no regrets and nothing of my heart except that which lives on in others.

I will live the life you were meant to, until you lost your way and time ran out.

I have lost my way many times also, and time is running out for me too, but it is not yet lost. There is still time for me.

May you rest in peace knowing that you did the best you could, and that your best was good enough. Know that your spirit lives on in me and in my son. He is so like you in ways, but he is fearless!

Though I walk alone now, I hear your footsteps with mine. The strength that you could not summon in life, feeds my soul today.

I hope that at the end of my life you will be proud of who I have become.

And I will be eternally grateful for your sacrifice – a sacrifice I have only come to understand since becoming a mother myself.

Rest now, mom, knowing that all is forgiven. Lay your burden down now, mom. You needn’t worry that I will pick it up – I won’t – for you have taught me well.

Your loving daughter

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Dealing With Crap

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